


if you got a straight line, this would be a good time

by verity



Series: psychic wolves [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human, Family, Friendship, Gender Roles, Guns, M/M, Omega Verse, Pack Family, Psychic Wolves, Rated For Violence, Road Trips, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension, awesome OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles have been solving problems for the Hale pack for years, but this one's turning out to be more complicated than it seemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks: to billtheradish, clio-jlh, & fleete for their loving midwifery and to mijra, carmarthen, etothepii, & my anonymous firearms beta for their additional wisdom. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> content notes: gun violence, wolf violence, fpreg, allusion to possible future mpreg (look, this is a/b/o), some ableist language.
> 
> what the fuck is going on here: written for [Psychic Wolves for Lupercalia](http://petra.dreamwidth.org/670575.html). The wolves are kind of like [the Companions in Mercedes Lackey novels](http://valdemar.wikia.com/wiki/Companion); they talk in italics. Here's [an A/B/O guide](http://snickfic.dreamwidth.org/237118.html). All-human AU means no werewolves and that "alpha/beta/omega" refers to human sexes/genders exclusively. Wolfbrothers are (almost always) alpha humans, wolfsisters are female wolves. JUST ROLL WITH IT.

"So, yeah." Stiles leaned back against the hood of the Jeep, propping himself up with his elbows. "Your ride or mine, dude?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He'd finished up at Berkeley just in time for his summer heat, and he still smelled like it, dampened arousal and sweat.

Lark came trotting up to them from the line of birches at the edge of the drive; she butted her head against Stiles's thigh and he bent down to scratch the ruff of her neck. Actaea was standing a foot away, but Derek could feel her tense, tail held high and stiff. Across from them, Lark growled low, satisfied, before glancing at Actaea and away again.

"You think that hunk of scrap will make it all the way there?" Derek said. They'd had this argument before; the last time it was Reno. "Have you even replaced the alternator yet?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Look, we're not taking the Camaro again if we can't eat in the car. I know you and A are, like, superhuman wolfalphas—"

"Actaea's not a—an alpha," Derek said, shooting her a look. "Can you just—"

The front door of the house slammed. Laura was already picking her way across the lawn in her bare feet, Fay trailing behind her. "Boys!" She grinned, like all of this was _funny_. "You're taking Nan's old Volvo once Uncle Pete switches out the plates."

"Oh, it's one of _those_ jobs," Stiles said, standing up straight. "Your mom never tells me this shit on the phone."

Laura tossed him the keys. "That's kind of the point, babe," she said. "Come on in. You've got half an hour."

—

_Wolfalphas? Really?_ Actaea said, standing by him while he got the essentials from the closet in the utility room. She was always touchy about that, the way people tried to map human genders onto wolfsisters to make sense of them, although Stiles probably just wanted a synonym for 'bro.' _Lark—_

Derek threw one of the first aid kits in his bag and zipped it up. _Are you insulting Lark, now, too?_

 _…no,_ Actaea said after a moment. _Though I dislike seeing her treated—she's a warrior of the people, not a **dog**._

 _She chose him,_ Derek reminded her, kneeling down to press a hand against her flank. _She’s not you._

 _I know,_ she said, pulling away. _Still._

Upstairs, Mom and Nathan were in the kitchen, talking about soccer camp, but Derek walked past them and down the hall toward the library and the main gun safe. They kept a fake safe behind a painting over the fireplace; the actual one was behind one of the bookshelves. Actaea hung back by the door; Derek worked his hand in behind Proust, pressed against the switch, and the bookcase popped out from the wall a little, enough so he could swing it forward on the hinge.

"That's so fucking cool," Stiles said, behind him, even though he'd seen the gun safe open a dozen times now. "What are we packing this time? Can I get a Glock? I love Glocks."

Derek fumbled the combination first, the dial sticking; on the second try, the tumblers slid neatly into place and the door came open. "Dad got us some throwaways. Soviet stuff, I don't know." The shoebox was right at the front—Derek recognized it, Lacey's new cleats—and the guns were inside it, as well as more 9×18 rounds than Derek hoped he was going to need this year, let alone this weekend.

"Dibs on the P-64." Stiles thrust his hand over Derek's shoulder. "Gimme."

" _No_ ," Derek said. He did a press check on one of the CZ 82s before handing it and a mag to Stiles. "The kick on the P-64—"

"Fine," Stiles said, punctuating his acquiescence with a dramatic sigh. "Let's go get the scoop."

—

"Stiles, Lark," Mom said, putting a cup of mint tea in front of Stiles and passing Derek her empty mug with a nod toward the coffee maker. "Sit down. Let me get you up to speed."

Laura shoved her own mug into Derek's free hand. "Hey, fill me up, too."

Actaea sat back on her haunches by the table while Lark bent down to drink out of the big communal water bowl next to Fay. Opis had gone out, left the flap on the door swinging back and forth behind her. _Someone was here earlier,_ Actaea said. _From another pack; it doesn't smell like anyone I know._

Derek pulled down another mug from the cabinet for himself, vivid yellow with Mt. Tamalpais silhouetted in orange on the front. "What's going on?" The pot was hot and he almost scalded himself pouring it, wiped his stinging fingers against thigh instead of sticking them under cool water. He got it together after a few moments; put hazelnut creamer in Mom's coffee, sugar in his own, left Laura's untouched. 

"Florence Yi's second Li Hua and her wolfsister have gone missing," Mom said without preamble, taking her mug from Derek when he held it out. "Li Hua is Flo's eldest and she's pregnant with her first kid. She was headed down from Cupertino to meet her wife in San Diego yesterday. Police found her car last night on the shoulder of I-5 near Fort Tejon, phone in there, too, no prints. Not wolfsisters, not people."

"She's an omega?" Stiles said, looking interested. Omega wolfbrothers were few and far between, and there hadn't been any in the Hale family for a few generations. Derek had never met one before Lark had chosen Stiles. 

"Yes," Mom nodded. "The Yi pack's second, too. This would be serious enough if she weren't, but—"

Derek remembered the Yi pack now. A few years after Derek had been chosen, Li Hua's cousin Eric had come up to Beacon Hills to try for a wolf, stayed for a few weeks. The pack wasn't large, but it was established: they owned a frozen yogurt chain. Going after the second of a pack like that without provocation was at best poorly thought out, but going after the _pregnant omega second_ of an established pack was practically suicidal.

Laura drummed her fingers on the table. "Fort Tejon is near the Garcias and the Clarks, but the Garcias are tiny and the only thing Jaime Clark cares about is keeping Wal-Mart the fuck out of Lost Hills. So we're probably looking at out-of-towners. Or outsiders who felt up to taking on a wolfbrother _and_ a wolfsister." 

"So, wait, we're—why are we going down there?" Stiles said, fiddling with the handle of his mug. "If they don't know—are you arming us for backup?"

"No, dumbass," Derek said. "Whoever did this—they're trying to lure the Yis out, right? That's what this is about."

"Very good, Derek." Laura smiled at him indulgently. "They've gotta hold the fort. _You're_ going to get Li Hua and her wolfsister back."

—

"This is definitely the sweetest vehicle I've driven yet." Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the station wagon. "I'm digging this molded plastic and vinyl upholstery, your Grandma had rad taste."

"Don't insult my Nan," Derek said, trying to push the grocery bag of cassette tapes he'd grabbed from the hall closet over so he had more leg room. The only thing worse than working with Stiles was listening to every classic rock station they passed in range of for however long they were on the road. If Derek had to listen to Stiles sing "Tom Sawyer" one more time—

Behind him, Lark clambered over the backseat to sprawl over the cargo area. _No Bon Iver,_ Actaea said. _I veto Bon Iver. And Adele._

"Shut _up_ ," Derek muttered under his breath. He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Stiles gave him a weird look. "Actaea—"

"Oh my god," Stiles said joyfully. "How did I forget? How did I forget that the only things you and your wolfsister can agree to listen to in the car are the Pet Shop Boys and NPR?"

"No Rush," Derek said. He had to listen to enough of it at work, doing kitchen installs with Dad. "No King Crimson, either."

"Lark loves King Crimson." Stiles beamed. "That's why she's the bestest wolfbuddy around." 

_**'Wolfbuddy.'** _

Derek groaned. _Stop it. **No**._

—

Six years ago, the second night of Lupercalia, Stiles was running around the Preserve with his beta friend Scott like an idiot, as if they were any competition for the children of the wolfbrotherhood who'd been training all their lives. Lark found them at the base of a tree, searching through the leaves for Scott's inhaler.

Scott hung back while Stiles blinked, confused, as Mom told him he'd been chosen. "Um… but I'm an omega?" Stiles said. His hand was still buried in Lark's fur, nails scraping gently behind her ear. "How does that work?"

Derek and Actaea were standing behind Mom and Opis, watching, waiting for Laura and Aunt Neve to join them. Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ted were back at the house, standing watch. No one left the house unguarded on Lupercalia anymore, not on those three long nights.

Actaea whined a little, low in her throat, and turned toward Derek. He held out his hand and she brushed her nose against his palm, wet and warm, comforting. _Let's go back,_ she said. _We're done for the year. Opis—_

Lark's ears twitched; she lifted her head. _Stay,_ she said, her voice high and bright; Derek was always taken aback to hear anything other than Actaea's crisp alto in his head. _Welcome my wolfbrother. It is meet and right to do so._

At that, Mom smiled, wide and closemouthed; Stiles's mouth was hanging open, his eyes fixed on Lark. "Holy shit," he said, bending down to bring their faces close together. "What—"

Lark licked his face, long, broad swipes; then she pulled back to let Stiles wipe off his face with one hand, sputtering. Mom laughed, Opis's tail wagged, and Scott laughed, too. When Derek looked over at Actaea, she pawed at the ground and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Hey, hey, who's the new—" Laura and Fay came into the clearing, circling around Derek to approach Stiles and Lark. "Oh, you're _cute_. Why don't I know you?"

"Oh boy," Scott said, tossing his inhaler from one hand to the other. On the third pass, he dropped it on the ground again.

"Way to make an impression, dude," Stiles said.

—

They got pulled over on the way out of town, which left Derek nervous and clammy-palmed in the passenger seat while the sharp corner of a cassette case dug into his ankle. Stiles sighed and leaned forward to drop his forehead against the steering wheel. "Great," he said. "Just great."

Lark howled cheerfully in the backseat.

The cop tapped on Stiles's window and waited while Stiles cranked it down. "Do I want to know?" the Sheriff said and—oh. Stiles's dad. "Hello, Derek."

"Hello, sir," Derek said.

"Dad," Stiles said into the steering wheel. "So nice to see you."

The Sheriff ignored Stiles, staring right at Derek. Stiles hadn't started training with the Hales until he was eighteen and his dad couldn't keep him under lock and key anymore; four years later, things were still—tense. "Boys, those plates are not going to hold up under close inspection. Were those a rush job? Because it looks to me like someone just took two plates, cut them in half, and soldered them together."

Stiles shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"Christ," the Sheriff said, scrubbing his face with his hand.

"You don't want to know, Dad," Stiles said. "You seriously—there's an open police investigation, okay? We're headed down south. I'm pretty sure you can figure out why, if you want, but _please_ don't—"

Derek put a hand on Stiles's shoulder. " _Stiles_ ," he said. "Stop."

Stiles relaxed fractionally under Derek's grip. He lifted his head and gave the Sheriff a small smile. "It's okay. We've got this."

"Right," the Sheriff said. "Well—I'll just let you get to that. Safe travels and all. You take care of my boy, Derek, Actaea."

"We will," Derek said, Actaea chiming with a wordless affirmative in his head. 

As soon as the Sheriff headed back to his car, Stiles put the station wagon into gear and peeled out of there. "Christ," he said, an unconscious echo of his dad. "I don't know why he can't—well, I know why, but—it's not _safe_ for him to know this shit. What if someone from the state—fuck, the FBI—showed up tomorrow, tried to shake down the department? It's not like any of this is fucking legal."

Officially, Wolfbrothers and Wolfsisters of America was a ceremonial fraternity, honoring tradition, lineage, and community service. In some places, that's what the wolfbrotherhood had become—ceremonial, ornamental. There were wolfsisters on K-9 units, wolfsisters who worked as therapeutic companion animals, even one or two on TV. However, in scattered pockets across the country, the wolfbrotherhood was what it always had been and still was in other parts of the world—protection and justice for those unserved by or unable to wait for due process. 

"Calm down," Derek said. "It's—"

"I know, I know," Stiles said. "If Tam thought we were going to be in the thick of it—we wouldn't be driving anything traceable, or a _station wagon_ , we'd have real plates. It's like she wants to get caught doing something illegal as hell, which doesn't sound like your mom to me."

In the back, Actaea's ears had pricked, listening. _Or she wants to get you away from home._

"Maybe she wants to get us out of here." Derek frowned. "But why would—it's not like most of us are home right now. Peter and Kathy, yeah, Laura and Mom, but Dad and Sarah are driving Nathan and Lacey up to soccer camp this weekend, and Ted—"

"Oh, _hell_ no," Stiles said. "No, no, no, no, no, _world of no_ , I can't fucking believe _she'd_ —no." 

Lark whined, low, and Stiles pulled off into the next driveway—it was the In 'N Out right by the highway on ramp, they hadn't gone that far—and into the parking lot. "What?" Derek said. "What's—"

Stiles swung open his door and stepped out of the car. "I need a moment, okay."

Actaea scrambled up into the vacant driver's seat while Stiles opened the back for Lark. Derek looked away when Stiles sat down on the bench of one of the tables outside and Lark came up to him, licking softly at his hand and rubbing her head against his thigh. _All the omegas are gone,_ Actaea said. _Most of the alphas with them. It's just your mom, Laura, Neve, and betas at home._

Derek's lungs tightened up on him; it took Actaea nudging his shoulder to get him to take a deep breath, slow, and then another, and another. _Do you think it's hu—why else would she send **you and me** away?_

 _Beth's been planning that camping trip for weeks, same with soccer camp,_ Actaea said. _It could mean anything._

Stiles got everyone fries; they didn't talk about it.

—

They took 80 west. Stiles picked up the 5 when they came to it. "This is going to take longer," he said. "We're going to—we're going to do this right. Even if…"

"You think she's dead?" Derek said.

Stiles shrugged. "Normally, when people take hostages? They make a demand in return. First 24 hours are critical, and we've already lost most of them."

Outside the window, everything was flat and brown. The air conditioning had stopped working half an hour in. They'd rolled the windows down, but that didn't help much. Sweat pooled between Derek's shoulder blades and dripped down his back; the strip of skin where his shirt rode up was sticking to the vinyl seat. Stiles had taken off his overshirt when they stopped for gas, the t-shirt underneath already damp and sticky.

Derek always thought it would get easier with time, his stupid crush, instead of just weirder, as Stiles wormed his way further into Derek's life and his family, became one of their own. Turned into someone Derek relied on, to have his back in a fight and take Laura's corn casserole out of the oven on time. Mostly, Derek tried to ignore it: Stiles's scent, his t-shirt stretched tight over his shoulders and around his upper arms, the long sweet arc of his neck as he glanced up at the rearview mirror.

"I don't think of you like—" Derek shook his head, like that would make the words come easier. "You know I don't—I wouldn't—"

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles said. "It's great to know that all the shit I've done for the pack matters less than 'omegas and children first' when there's actually danger at home. Who's going to keep an eye on my dad?"

Behind them, Actaea bristled—Derek could feel it, a chill up his spine—and said, _Our duty is to **Beacon Hills** , not—_

"It's not—the pack versus the world," Derek said. "Or have you forgotten what you signed up for?"

"I didn't sign up for anything," Stiles said, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

_True enough._

—

After 5, Stiles took a string of highways west, and then southwest: 205, 580, 680, 101, 156. Derek put on NPR and they listened to that instead of talking. Even Actaea was uncharacteristically silent; she joined Lark in the back and they curled up on opposite sides, pillowed on a musty wool blanket that had been in the car for ages.

"What's in Monterey?" Derek asked when Stiles took the exit for Route 1.

"Carmel," Stiles corrected him. "One of my friends from high school, his pack's in Carmel, they own an autobody shop."

"I didn't know there was a pack out here," Derek said. He glanced out the window again, at the rippling waves beside them. They were going fast enough that the choppy water of the Pacific seemed almost motionless beside them, waves crisp and white-capped. "Aren't the Yis the farthest—"

Stiles glanced over at the clock in the dashboard. "It's just Isaac, his cousin, and her husband. They don't really… socialize."

 _Reyes pack,_ Actaea said, but she didn't volunteer anything further.

"I texted Isaac earlier," Stiles said. "He's going to hook us up with a car, plates, maybe some other stuff."

Their final destination was about fifteen minutes from the highway, a little bungalow with fresh paint and a small front yard dotted with rosebushes. There was a wolfbrother on the front porch, barefoot in leggings and a loose shirt, and a wolfsister standing watch beside her. The wolfbrother gave them a little wave when Stiles pulled up in front of the house, parking on the street, but she didn't get up to greet them.

Derek waited for Stiles and Lark to get out of the car before he and Actaea approached the wolfpair on the porch. Actaea ducked her head, baring her neck in submission, and Derek looked down, not meeting the wolfbrother's eyes. Her toenails were dark purple with chipped polish. _Greetings,_ Actaea said for them. _We intend no harm. Do we trespass on your territory, Lady?_

Lark came bounding over then and tackled the wolfsister, howling excitedly. Derek's head jerked up, he met the wolfbrother's eyes, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but she laughed, brushing her loose, wavy hair out of her eyes. "Hey," she said, extending her hand for Actaea to sniff. "I'm Erica and that's Sassy. We're not formal here."

Sassy and Lark were tussling in the grass beside them, so Derek stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Uh—okay."

Erica leaned forward, gaze focusing behind him. "Stiles!" she said. "You're being rude. Come introduce me to your friends, you asshole."

"Sorry," Stiles said, actually sounding contrite as he came up to join them. "Derek, Erica. Actaea—yeah, that's Sassy. She and Lark are besties, you should go join the party."

Actaea ducked her head, staying firm at Derek's side. "She's fine," Derek said for her. "Some water, maybe?"

"I'm the worst host," Erica said. "Go on in, water's out in the kitchen, glasses in the cupboard, soda in the fridge. Stiles knows where everything is."

 _Did Lark tell you about this pack?_ Skirting Erica, Derek followed Stiles and Actaea into the house. Stiles held the spring-loaded screen door for them; the heavy one behind it was already ajar. _You didn't ever mention—_

 _Some wolfsisters choose to be separate,_ Actaea said. _That's not your business, wolfbrother._

The hallway ran straight through the house to another door in the back, open enough to allow for cross-ventilation. Stiles led the way to the kitchen in back, where there was the promised water trough for Actaea and a man sitting at the table cleaning a pistol. He had newspaper spread out, oil in easy reach, a shiny smudge on the back of one hand. "Hey." Stiles went over to the fridge and opened the door, staring inside, letting all the cold air out. "You want a Coke, Boyd?"

"Sure." Boyd squinted into the chamber. He was a beta—it wasn't a scent so much as the absence of one—tall and broad-shouldered. "You staying for dinner?"

"Nah," Stiles said, shutting the fridge. He popped the tab on the Coke and plunked it in front of Boyd. "I'll get you the CZs in a minute. Have to take a leak first."

Actaea was already lapping up water, head bobbing, content. Her satisfaction made Derek's throat feel dry and his bladder uncomfortably aware of the fact that _there was a bathroom_ and _he wasn't in it_. They'd been on the road for four hours with no stops except for Stiles's freakout at McDonald's.

Boyd's eyes flicked up for a moment. "There's another bathroom upstairs, if you want. First door on the right."

"Thanks," Derek said, and fled.

—

Laura had spent her childhood being dragged up and down the west coast on diplomatic trips with first Nan, then Mom, but Derek didn't leave Beacon Hills much before Stiles finished high school and the two of them started training with Neve and Peter. Some packs treated enforcing like a rite of passage— _everyone needs to know how to use a gun, Dad had said, putting the first one in Derek's hand when he was seven_ —but Mom let him and Actaea decide, gave Stiles and Lark the two years before Stiles turned 18 to think about it. Enforcers took care of problems at home and packs loaned them out sometimes, a show of trust or a favor. 

Derek had never been in another pack's den; negotiations and meetings usually took place on neutral ground. The rugs on the hexagonal tile of the bathroom floor were still damp and the toilet paper was almost out. After he was done, Derek washed his hands and replaced the roll of paper with a new one from the stack on the back of the toilet. There was an open box of tampons on the shelf next to him; this didn't look like a bathroom that saw a lot of guest use. He made his way back downstairs slowly, wary.

There was another wolfbrother in the kitchen— _Isaac,_ Actaea said to his unvoiced question, _and Bee_ —his wolfsister curled up under the table, watching Derek. Isaac and Stiles were both sitting at the table now, next to Boyd, close enough together that their shoulders brushed, laughing over something. Derek had never seen Stiles this relaxed at home, even when he and Laura wrestled over the remote while they bickered about whether to stream _Arrested Development_ or _Dead Like Me_ on Netflix. It took Derek a moment to catch Isaac's scent, to figure it out.

Erica was standing behind Boyd, hand curved on his shoulder, thumb resting on the nape of his neck. She met Derek's eyes when he stepped into the room, smiled again. "Isaac got you guys a totally sweet ride," she said. "Seriously bitchin'."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "'98 Toyota Camry. Gray. It's the most anonymous car on the road, that's what Stiles asked for."

"That's—that's, thanks," Derek said, looking down at the wolfsisters crowded into the kitchen. Lark and Sassy were edging toward Bee under the table and Actaea was standing next to one of the cabinets. _You can go,_ he said. _If you want to. They seem—_

 _We don't know them,_ Actaea said, some mix of shy and distrustful.

Stiles flapped a hand lazily in Derek's direction. "Derek's not good at talking to people. That's why he has me. To interpret. So, thanks, guys."

"Not a guy." Erica crossed behind the table to ruffle his hair.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles said. He grinned at her.

Beneath the table, Sassy whined and got to her feet, pushing between Boyd's chair and Isaac's to get to Erica, nudging her leg. Erica looked down, nodded. "Gotta go, sorry," she said. "You have a safe trip, okay? Check in. Car's yours as long as you need it. Danny took care of the plates and you've got papers in the glove box."

"Oh, you really didn't have to—" Stiles said. "I mean, thanks. Again."

Erica patted Derek on the shoulder on her way out. "Stiles can take care of himself, but if anything bad happens to him, I'll still hunt you down and kill you," she said.

"And here I thought we were going to get through this without obnoxious alpha posturing! Rude!"

"I've missed you," Isaac said, bumping his arm against Stiles's.

—

Boyd gave them a Browning Hi-Power and two Glocks that were showing their wear. "They're in decent shape," he said, passing the Glocks to Derek, "but it won't be a shame if you have to ditch them. The Browning—"

"I'll treasure this baby with my life," Stiles said, running his fingers along the textured grip. It was a little creepy, sometimes, how he got around firearms. "You're the best."

Lark nudged up against Boyd's legs and he bent down to scratch her head. "It's not a problem. We—"

"I know," Stiles said. He got down on the linoleum next to Lark and put his arms around her for a moment. 

Actaea's ears twitched. _We're wasting time._

"We should—" Derek started, stopped. Lark was already shrugging Stiles's arms off her, nosing his side. "It's almost five."

Isaac had ducked out of the kitchen a minute or two after Erica, but he came back in then, minus his wolfsister. Seeing him with Bee had been strange, even though Derek had known Stiles for years; it was easier to think of Stiles as a singular entity than hold _omega_ and _wolfbrother_ together in his mind. "You should go. You've got a full tank."

In one fluid motion, Stiles stood up, stretched, yawned, his shirt riding up at the waist. "Yeah, okay." He fished the new set of keys out of his pocket and held them out to Derek. "I'll be back soon, though? Bring the news from the north and all."

On the porch, Stiles and Boyd exchanged awkward bro-hugs before Stiles latched onto Isaac, holding him tight for long enough that Derek had to look away; he felt like an intruder. 

_Come on,_ Actaea said. _We can wait in the car._

The car smelled like air freshener and, faintly, of Isaac—omega musk that slipped away as soon as Derek caught the scent. Air conditioning, power windows, power locks: after Nan's Volvo, it was practically palatial. Behind him, Actaea curled up on the backseat, rubbing her head against the worn pile of the upholstery. _Lark wants you to pop the trunk._

Stiles rummaged around back there for a minute or two—probably putting the guns Boyd had given them in the spare tire compartment, because while they had CCW permits, open carry was definitely _not_ legal—and slammed the trunk closed. He came around to the passenger door with the paper bag of cassettes in his hand, shoved it at Derek before he opened the back door for Lark. "You're lucky I remembered, dude," Stiles said. "Otherwise we'd be listening to classic rock all the way down. Not that I personally have a problem—"

"Driver picks the music," Derek said.

"Hypocrite," Stiles said, almost fondly.

—

They'd been driving for the better part of an hour, listening to the best of the Pet Shop Boys, when Stiles turned down the volume and cleared his throat. "So, uh. I didn't—you can't tell anyone about Erica's pack, okay? Your mom knows. But there hasn't been a pack in Carmel for, like, fifty years, and they don't really… advertise."

"They're established, though," Derek said.

Stiles nodded. "Erica's, like, your age, so's Boyd, so—a decade, I guess."

The Hales had been in Beacon Hills for almost two hundred years, been chosen by their wolfsisters for nearly as long, and even so, Derek had grown up knowing that he shouldn't invite strangers in. "They trust you."

"We've got history." Stiles was quiet for a moment. "Erica has epilepsy, some losers still have issues with alpha-beta relationships, Isaac's an omega guy and he didn't exactly grow up preparing for this. They're vulnerable."

"Why would they let me in?"

"They trust me," Stiles said.

Behind them, Actaea twitched in her sleep, and her leg brushed against Lark's paw. Derek could feel it settle over him, a full-body shroud: warmth, affection, something unnameable that clawed at his throat. Lark pulled away after a moment and it was gone, except for a faint rosy halo that sank to the bottom of Derek's stomach, left him hot and wanting.

Next to him, Stiles twitched, like he was holding in a sneeze. "Sorry," he said.

"It's fine," Derek said, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them.

—

They topped off the tank in Coalinga, picked up snacks, got hoodies and shoulder holsters out of the trunk; Actaea and Lark did a circuit through the woods behind the gas station. At home, Derek and Actaea gave each other plenty of space—she was a wolf, not a _dog_ , didn't need a _bed_ , was _perfectly capable_ of feeding herself; rinse, repeat—but it made him uneasy to be so far from her unfamiliar territory, even though she came trotting back as soon as she was done, nosing his fingers in reassurance. 

"What's eating you?" Stiles said, checking their progress against the GPS coordinates on his phone. "We're like 20 minutes out, FYI."

Derek dropped into the driver's seat and closed the door, fumbled with his seatbelt for a moment before he got it to clip in. "Side road?"

"Pretty close to the exit ramp," Stiles confirmed. He dropped his phone into a vacant cup holder and arced up off the seat so he could reach into the front pocket on his jeans, pulling out a white envelope. "We've got a, uh, a scent-y kit, one of those."

Most wolfbrothers had them made up, scent samples for themselves and their wolfsisters, individual as fingerprints—as much for tracking as protection against fraud. "You're not supposed to keep it in your _pocket_ ," Derek said. "It's just going to smell like—"

Stiles opened the envelope, pulled out a plastic baggie, and thrust it at Derek. The movement swung the vials at the bottom forward and it almost smacked him on the nose. "Relax, grandma, I've got it under control."

Stiles's scent was all over the bag, rich and heady, saturated from hours of riding snugged against his thigh; his fingers were curled over the zip, plastic film pressed between forefinger and thumb. If Derek wanted to, he could pull the bag away, take Stiles's long fingers, suck them one by one into his mouth, mirror the way he ached to press himself into Stiles until his knot swelled and locked them together. It would be easy, Stiles still open and eager from his heat, so wet that Derek's mouth went dry just thinking about it. 

"Don't put that in my face," Derek said, putting the keys in the ignition. "I have to see to drive."

—

Li Hua was driving a 2012 Volvo S60: safe, reliable, on the swank side compared to Nan's station wagon. The car had been towed away already, but it wasn't hard to tell where it had been, the ground disturbed by human footprints, no paws among them. It was full dark, now, and the moon was new: Actaea and Lark were going to have to do the brunt of the work.

Derek held both of their flashlights while Stiles gave their wolfsisters the vials to sniff. Lark took Li Hua, Actaea, Yun. _Her scent's still very strong here,_ Actaea said, head low to the churned earth. _Diffuse, though. I think they went back into the woods._

The flashlights didn't do much good in the woods, only lighting the path ahead of them; Derek was following Actaea on instinct, dodging branches and fallen logs. Stiles and Lark weren't far behind. They'd been walking for half an hour when both wolfsisters came up short at the edge of a clearing. Derek shifted his grip on his flashlight, started to raise the beam up from the ground. 

_Here_ , Actaea said, _They're clo—_

Something cracked through the air above them.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Whoa,_ " Stiles said, pulling the Glock out so fast that it took Derek a moment to register what was happening, ears ringing from the gunshot. Lark's ears were up, spine taut, tail wagging; next to him, Derek could feel Actaea stiffen. "Easy there. We come in peace. I think."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when, no, I don't." Bright light flashed in his face and Derek ducked his eyes a moment too late, found the afterimage already dancing over the ground. "If you motherfuckers think for one second that I—STILINSKI?"

"Um, yeah?" Stiles said.

 _ **What the everloving FUCK,**_ an unfamilar voice boomed in Derek's head. _Why the hell are you assholes—_

Lark yelped, branches crunched; the light dropped away from his face.

" _Lindsay?_ " Stiles said incredulously. "We're looking for somebody named, uh, Li Hua—"

"You dumb shit," she said. Blinking, Derek could see her now, washed out in the beam from his own flashlight. She was short, arms plump and soft, belly swollen beneath her t-shirt, and she still had her gun trained on Derek, laser sight straight on his chest. "Why the hell are _you_ here?"

"I didn't know we were looking for _you_. Since when has your name been—"

"We're friends on Facebook, it's in my email address. Just because my mom is the only one who…" Lindsay—Li Hua—sighed. "Seriously, why are you and Hale here? Aren't you still, like, five?"

"I resent that." Stiles scuffed his toe against the ground.

 _Lindsay was Stiles's freshman—dorm alpha?_ Actaea said, sounding confused.

 _ **RA,**_ the unfamiliar voice—Yun—said. _Omega dorms, **hello**._

"That is a totally sweet LAM you've got there," Stiles was saying, "And I kind of want to caress it and call it sexy names when we aren't pointing guns at each other out in the woods."

"Sounds great," Derek said. He adjusted his grip on the flashlight. If he dropped it, he could go for the CZ in his shoulder holster easily, but he'd lose a few seconds doing it; probably not worth the risk.

"Do not even," Stiles hissed, turning his head toward Derek. "I will shank your ass. I love Lindsay, she is my bro."

Lindsay sighed. "Touching. You drop your weapon first, the baby can't hold a gun yet."

—

Stiles and the wolfsisters curled up in the backseat, Lindsay took shotgun, Derek drove. The Camry was not designed for six passengers; Actaea kept bumping into Yun whenever they hit a rough patch on the highway, but since it annoyed both of them, it wasn't that distracting. 

"So, yeah, I shot them in the kneecap and left them behind the 7-11," Lindsay said, yawned. "Searched their car. Turns out there's some anti-wolfbro hunter group that's making inroads out here, touched down in LA. Nobody's got their shit together there. So I ditched the car, raked the ground behind me, and went into the woods with Yun. My phone and the car both have GPS, we had enough supplies for 48 hours, I figured Rachel's mom or somebody from home would come pick me up. Is Rachel—have you guys—"

"I don't know," Derek said. "We didn't get much information."

"Dude, Tam sent us out with like the worst cover ever," Stiles said. "I mean, that's information right there. I think she thought—we wouldn't find anything. Left."

Lindsay rubbed her eyes. "Huh."

 _Argents_ , Actaea said. _Yun says it's definitely the Argents._

Derek wanted to beat his head against the steering wheel.

—

Logically, they took sanctuary in the belly of the beast, which meant a two and half hour drive to San Luis Obispo. The highway was still dark and almost empty, stretching out before them like the looping ribbon on one of Derek's cassettes.

"Yeah, I wouldn't look for me here." Lindsay peered out the window. It was just edging into dawn, light enough to take in the strip malls dotting the picturesque landscape. "Or anybody."

Stiles reached forward to poke her in the shoulder. "Shut up, it's the happiest place in America. Scott and Allison like it."

"They're 22 and they're married and they've already spawned," Lindsay said. "Clearly, they've already made a lifetime commitment to boredom and drudgery."

"You're 25," Stiles said. "You had a shotgun wedding."

"I'm a grown-up with a grown-up job, bitch, I work for _Apple_ ," she said, twisting in her seat to poke him back. "Ugh, I want to take a shower and sleep forever."

"We're _almost there_." Derek gritted his teeth.

The car was blissfully silent for one long moment before Lindsay sighed. "Look, I almost got murdered today, my wife is probably losing her shit because I am the one in this relationship who does not lose their shit, and also I am pregnant and I haven't cried all day and lately I am a hysterical crier, so I appreciate you coming to rescue my ass and all, but you can just _deal_ , okay?"

"'Hysterical.'" Stiles made air quotes, fingers scrunching in the rearview mirror.

"Just wait until you get knocked up," Lindsay said. "Guess how many jokes you're gonna hear about your brovaries?"

"Eurgh," Stiles said, slumping against his seat.

—

Scott met them out in front of their apartment building, two stories, light clapboard and a shingled roof. Derek had gotten lost on the first loop through their complex and had to circle around, squinting at the building numbers while Lindsay fiddled with his phone and Stiles and their wolfsisters dozed in the back.

"Hi," Scott said, holding the door for Lindsey and opening the one behind her, too, to let Actaea and Yun out. Lark was still trying to wake Stiles, pawing his leg and licking his face when that didn't work. "You guys okay? Stiles sounded pretty wigged out."

"We're—we'll be fine," Derek said, opening the back door on the driver's side. 

Stiles groaned, almost spilled onto the asphalt, but Lark took a mouthful of his shirt and yanked him upright. "Fuck my life, are we there yet? Where—oh, Scott, hey." They exchanged some meaningful looks. "You look kind of awake for ass o'clock, dude."

"Abby's not sleeping through the night yet." Scott yawned. "You didn't wake us up or anything."

"Bathroom," Lindsay said, coming over toward them. Derek hadn't notice it before, but she was favoring her left side a little; Yun hung behind her like a fanged shadow. "I need—"

"Come on," Scott said. "We're in 1A."

Scott and Allison had gotten married a year ago, just as Scott finished up his junior year at Cal Poly and Allison graduated with her art degree. Derek heard about it in snatches, from Laura's side of the conversation in the months before, on a series of stakeouts with Stiles during the week after. Stiles couldn't stop talking about it, a light in his eyes that Derek couldn't read. There were photos on Facebook, white roses and the ceremony on the beach, Stiles standing next to Scott digging his toes into the sand.

The apartment was small, two bedrooms, one of which was Allison's studio. "I put fresh sheets on the bed," Allison said, holding the door for them. She had the baby in her other arm, drooling sweetly onto her shoulder. "Scott and I will be fine on the futon. Stiles, Derek, you're going to have to crash in the studio, I'm sorry."

"Fuck no, I'm not kicking you out of your bed," Lindsay said, heading straight for the bathroom. "I'll take—"

Stiles shut the door behind them, locked it. " I don't want to put you guys out—I shouldn't have—"

Allison was pointedly not looking at Derek. "No," she said. "Of course you should have. You'll be safe here."

Scott cleared his throat. "Right."

—

The baby woke up again while Scott was digging through the closet in the studio for the air mattress and Allison was walking Stiles through the complex organizational system of the pantry. "Darling," she said, shifting on her feet, bringing her hand up to cradle the baby's head. "You gotta sleep, okay?"

"Are you _sure_ there's chicken soup in here? Because I see, like, those Lipton gravy packets, but—" Stiles said, head still inside the cabinet. " _No soup for you._ "

Allison turned to Derek, holding out the baby—Abby—and Derek took her, held her while Allison bent down to rummage in the bottom of the pantry. It had been a while since he'd held a baby, not since Will was little, and he was almost to kindergarten now, knobby-kneed and mischievous. Abby went quiet and pliant almost immediately, sighing against his chest, marking him with that familiar beta baby scent. 

_Sit,_ Actaea said, padding over to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Derek followed her, sank eagerly onto the cushion. He'd been awake for almost a full day, driving for much of it, and the adrenaline that had propelled him since they left Beacon Hills was draining away, leaving him with—this. The baby in his arms, in Stiles's friends' home, safe enough for a little while.

"Aha!" Stiles whirled around. "Dude, I totally thought was a can of beans, that's a fucking stealthy soup can."

"Don't swear around the baby," Scott said, looking scandalized as he ducked his head into the kitchen. "Hey, should I get Lindsay some clothes and stuff?"

Allison stood up, rubbed at the small of her back. "Let me. Derek, you got her for a moment?"

"Sure," he said.

Then he was alone in the kitchen with Stiles and the can of soup Stiles was upending into a microwave-safe bowl. "You're the f—freakin' baby whisperer, dude. How did I not know about this? Do you have any other secrets you've been keeping from me?"

Derek didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, anyway, still didn't understand any of what had happened today—Stiles practically rolling over and baring his belly for someone he thought was a stranger, bringing Derek into the parts of his life he kept separate, that weren't part of the pack. Against his chest, Abby squirmed, and Derek brought up a hand to stroke her back until she calmed again. She was so little—what she needed was easy, what Derek could give her was simple. He didn't mind.

—

The studio had blackout curtains and a slick tarp over the floor that Scott had rolled up partway so he could put the air mattress down where it wouldn't slide. It was a queen-size mattress, old, and it leaked; after five minutes, Derek was clinging to his side like it was a life raft while Stiles inched perilously toward the center. Lark had made a nest in the pile of clean rags in one corner, and Actaea had dragged in the bathroom rug.

"Mom didn't send you with me because you're—so you'd be safe," he said, to distract himself, maybe. "I'm the one she doesn't want there."

"What?" Stiles said, already half-asleep.

Derek closed his eyes. His hair was still wet from the shower, dripping on the collar of his t-shirt; it was cold and rough against the back of his neck. "Argents."

"Yeah, we just went over how they set your house on fire in the car." Stiles turned over so that he was flopped belly down in the mattress, taking up the prime real estate. "Allison's dad doesn't do that anymore, which is why I called her, I mean—that was a long time ago."

"Thirteen years," Derek said. "I was fifteen."

—

Derek didn't want to run, the next year. He was sixteen, he'd have another chance, it didn't matter. His mom left him alone about it after a while, but Nan came up to his room on the second night of Lupercalia and said, "Derek. You know what you need to do."

"No." Derek covered his face with his hand; couldn't look at her. He was lying in bed on top of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comforter he'd gotten for Christmas four years ago, had spent the last hour alternating between reading the newest _Wheel of Time_ book and staring up at the soft white plaster of the ceiling where it sloped down beneath the pitched roof. The fire hadn't touched this part of the house. "I don't—"

Nan sat down next to him, pushing his legs back against the wall to make room for herself, Thea trailing behind her. "I'm not telling you this as your grandmother," she said. "I'm telling you this as your wolfbrother. Your wolfsister is waiting out there, and if you don't go find her, she'll choose someone else. She won't wait for you."

"Maybe she's not mine, then, if she won't wait," Derek said, stubborn. "If she wanted—"

"Up." Nan grabbed him by the back of his collar, pulled him tugged. "I'll have Thea drag you out in front of the whole family. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

Outside, the air was cool—it was February, he hadn't dressed right, just shoved his bare feet into his old track shoes, the ones that he didn't have to untie to get his foot inside. They shifted on his feet as he ran, the soles worn enough that he could feel the rough ground beneath him. _I don't want this,_ he thought, like that would make it true. _I don't want this._

 _Too bad,_ his wolfsister said, sneaking up to him when he stopped to catch his breath, panting and groping around his heel for the leaf that had fallen into his shoe a few yards back. Derek stumbled, fell to his knees, ankle twisted beneath him. _You were the one who ran after me, wolfbrother._

She— _Actaea_ —looked him over, prodded him until he was sitting up and she could nose all over him, learning his smell and his shape, marking him as hers. Derek held his open palm out for her to sniff before he pressed it tentatively against her side, brought it up to stroke the long line of her back. When he touched her, he felt it, what she felt, an endless, recursive loop of emotion and sensation, connection, growing between them like a living thing. 

He didn't deserve any of this.

 _None of you do,_ Actaea said, pulling back to look him in the eye. _The choice is a gift. Didn't your mother teach you anything?_

Derek could already feel it, the way her claws dug purchase in his soul, the good and ugly parts of him in turn, reading his heart like a book. Above them, the moon was bright and full, and one by one, Actaea and her sisters howled, singing _welcome, welcome, welcome_ right down into his core.

—

Stiles and Lark were already gone when Derek woke, but he could still feel Stiles, the warmth of his body hovering like a ghost against Derek's side. He checked his phone: one text from Mom (Stiles could deal with that), an email from Laura, nothing else. It was just past noon. This time yesterday, they'd just been getting on the road, settling into Nan's station wagon, getting pulled over by the Sheriff.

 _You slept late_ , Actaea said, even though he'd gotten maybe six hours. _I've already been out. They fed us ground beef for breakfast, we couldn't even—_

 _Better than fries._ Derek rolled over onto his back, stretched, fingers woven together over his head. His body felt sore, tight, from all those hours on the road yesterday. More today, probably.

_No one's made any decisions yet. They're waiting for you. Scott tried to pet me._

"What?" Derek said. He was already sitting up when the lie registered with him. _Okay, getting out of bed, you win._

Burrowing a little deeper into her rag nest, Actaea growled. _You're lucky to have me, you ungrateful—_ she said, affectionate, while Derek pulled on the jeans he'd worn the day before.

When Derek ventured into the kitchen, Scott was presiding over the stove, making a valiant effort not to burn the pancakes. "There's coffee." Scott gestured with the spatula. "Pancakes?"

"Sure," Derek said, taking a clean mug out off the drying rack. He'd never really gotten along with Scott, even though Stiles had dragged Scott into everything for years, those long years where his dad had refused to let Stiles train with the Hales and Stiles had found every excuse to get in trouble instead. That was with Lark reining him in; Derek couldn't imagine how Stiles would have been without her, untethered.

In the living room, Allison was sitting in the rocking chair, nursing Abby, and Stiles and Lindsay were glaring at each other over plates of half-eaten pancakes, Lark and Yun at their feet. _They can't agree on anything,_ Actaea said, in that tone that said she was letting her sisters listen in. _You need to intervene._

Lindsay looked over her shoulder at Derek and narrowed her eyes. "Stilinski needs to back the fuck off and stop acting like my dad."

"Could you stop calling me by my last name?" Stiles said around a mouthful of pancake. He swallowed. "That's all I want. Aside from you not doing something incredibly stupid—"

"Honey, you're an amateur," Lindsay said. "We're not going _compromise our position_ just because you think I'm some delicate snowflake—"

They resumed their glare-off.

"Your grandfather's dead," Derek said to Allison. "Who's left, aside from—? Who would—why would she come back here?"

Allison looked up, clear-eyed, calm. "A favor to someone, maybe. She knows she isn't welcome here. My dad and I wouldn't, not after my mom—"

Sometimes, Derek forgot that people died: not his family, but the people who'd tried to murder them, who'd set their home ablaze. First, there was Gerard Argent, with Thea at his throat, and years later, Allison's mother Victoria, when she and her husband had tried to take out a pack in Oregon. Scott and Allison didn't meet until college, didn't know about connection until Scott brought her home on spring break and Laura and Fay ran into them at Starbucks at the mall. 

Derek nodded, said, "I know," more gently than he felt.

"Who are you talking about?" Stiles said, looking down at Lark, who whined and ducked her head. "I've never met any of Allison's actively murderous relatives, no offense, Allison. You're made of sunshine and sparkles."

Allison looked him up and down, a quick once-over. "I could take you. You leave your left side open too much, you think Lark'll be there, and you've been favoring your right knee a little. Did you twist it?"

"In March." Stiles grimaced. "Really? Am I still—"

Lindsay was thumbing through a document on Stiles's phone. "Kate Argent. Moonlights with PETA, apparently."

"She seemed really cool when I was little," Allison said, switching Abby to her other arm and adjusting herself under the cover of her shawl. "I was vegetarian for a long time, until Scott got me to try bacon."

"You're a carnivore now," Scott said, coming in with a platter of misshapen and unevenly cooked pancakes.

—

The meeting place Lindsay took them to was in the woods west of Los Gatos, on high ground, distant enough that no one was likely to hear gunfire and call the police. "That's reassuring," Derek said. He was in the back with the wolves today, Actaea sprawled over him while Lark and Yun took turns shoving each other off the seat and onto the floor. Lindsay drove; Stiles was on his phone, navigating. They screamed at each other the whole way, about whether or not Miley Cyrus was an acceptable listening choice (Derek voted no, was ignored) and how often they needed to stop so Lindsay could pee (Lindsay won, she was driving) and the merits of Burger King (inconclusive). Just listening to them was exhausting, and Derek was running on adrenaline and caffeine, so amped up he couldn't fall asleep, patting the gun under his arm every five minutes for reassurance. 

Waiting for Lindsay at bathroom stop #3, Stiles turned around in his seat. "Sorry," he said. "It's like—you and Laura, kind of. I can't help it, that's just how it is when I'm around her."

"Big sister?" Derek said, rubbing at the crick in his neck.

"Lindsay was the first omega wolfbrother I met. Isaac didn't get chosen until after his dad—until he went to live with Erica—and Lydia didn't start at Berkeley until I was a sophomore." Stiles paused, sighed. "Not exactly a big club, here."

Lydia was a grad student at Berkeley, getting her PhD in some kind of highly esoteric and theoretical math, and Derek had had to listen to Stiles wax lyrical over her virtues for two entire summer breaks before she got a hot alpha boyfriend. Derek had met her once, coming to pick Stiles up on the way to the Quinces in Eugene; her wolfsister Ariadne had ignored Actaea the entire time they were in the same room. She wasn't the kind of person he'd have picked as a friend, if he'd been in the habit of making them, but she'd sat up all night with Stiles when he had the stomach flu and kept texting Derek gross yet rapturous updates.

"Your friends," Derek said, "they're—good people."

Stiles smiled at him, shy; Derek couldn't read it. "I know."

They took 101 most of the way, made to the meeting place by five. Lindsay called her mom and Rachel, sitting on the hood of the car, Yun leaning against her legs. She had sweet-talked Stiles into giving up the Browning even though she still had her 1911, which left Stiles with both Glocks and Derek with the remaining CZ 82 and the P-64 for backup. Way too much firepower for what was supposed to be a simple hand-off.

 _Something's wrong,_ Actaea said, climbing up to the top of the ridge with him, leaving Stiles at the car with Lindsay and their wolfsisters. _Yun won't tell me anything about it, Lark doesn't—your mom wouldn't waste either of you on something purposeless._

The reason Derek and Stiles had always made a good team was that they balanced each other: Stiles was the best at coming up with plans on the fly and Derek the best at making sure they got done what they came to do. If he'd been born into the wolfbrotherhood instead of being chosen from outside, Stiles and Lark might have vied with Laura and Fay to be second. Mom wouldn't have sent Stiles away if she thought there was a direct threat at home, even with Peter and Neve still there, and she wouldn't have sent Derek on his own. 

Looking down at Stiles and Lindsay, it occurred to Derek that Mom had never actually denied that they were backup—she just hadn't told them what they were backup _for_.

—

The hunters were driving a green minivan with tinted windows.

 _You shouldn't have left the station wagon in Carmel,_ Lark said, getting down low behind the boulder she and Actaea were using as a shield. _We would have blended right in._

Actaea looked up, like she was appealing to Derek or possibly a higher power. _Is right now the time to be having this conversation?_

 _You are all fired_ , Yun chimed in Derek's head. _No, seriously - wolfladies, don't move unless we need you to draw fire or it's a tactical advantage. Derek, tires, then move and stay down until I tell you otherwise._

Lindsay and Yun were close to Stiles, the boulder they'd chosen maybe six feet from his, and Derek was still on the ridge about thirty feet above them. They were equipped for short range, not sniping, but the last the time Derek had shot a CZ 82, he'd been able to hit a target at 50 yards unsupported with reasonable accuracy. He wasn't as confident about the P-64, but it was better that Stiles and Lindsey have guns they were comfortable with; they were more likely to be in the direct line of fire, which Stiles had spent the last half hour freaking out about, not on his own behalf.

 _Do it soon,_ Yun said. _They won't have any other cover once they pass that stand of trees._

 _Better to let them get a little farther in, they'll run to the van instead of scattering,_ he said to Actaea, and gave the minivan another twenty seconds before he got the both of the front tires and the back left, nice and easy.

There were four of them: three men and one woman, the last person out of the van, her blonde hair pulled back from her face. Derek would know her anywhere.

Lindsay drew first blood: she winged the driver in the thigh, sent him scrabbling back toward the van. The other three started to converge on her, which was the part of the plan Stiles hadn't liked, didn't want her to telegraph her position. It was a good move, though, ( _go, ladies_ , Yun said) let Lark get the jump on them while Actaea circled around back to cut them off. Lindsay let Stiles get them down, shooting one of the guys in the calf and the other right in the meat of the bicep. Actaea went for the guns, Lark went for the guy with working legs. One of the guys got Stiles in the arm— _shit,_ Lark said—which left Lindsay drawing a bead on Kate, who'd ducked behind the open passenger door of the van as soon as shooting started.

 _You've got to spook her out of there,_ Actaea said. _She's not going to give herself up, and if you move, you'll expose yourselves, too._

It turned out they didn't have to do much, though, because another car came around the curve of the road, last year's Ford Explorer. Kate glanced back and Lindsay shot through the window, got her right in the shoulder. Not the one supporting the butt of her rifle, though.

 _Miss A,_ Yun said. _Time for a dance party. You up for it?_

Actaea had circled back around to a stand of trees close to Lindsay after disarming the downed hunters. _It's not a dance party_.

Lark, who was still out there in the open, said, _Get this dude's legs, I need to get to—_

_Derek, that's on you,_ Yun said. _Get him, get down to Stiles, let Lindsay handle this until you're there._

Stiles looked—he'd stripped off his overshirt, had it pressed to his arm, he was conscious, that was good. Yun and Actaea went tearing toward the van, Lark ran towards Stiles, and Derek aimed for the feet and shot a few rounds at the guy Lark had been keeping down. Kate kept her rifle trained on Lindsay until she saw Derek moving along the ledge, which is when Yun and Actaea converged on her, dragged her out into the grass in front of the van. 

"You gonna take out me like this?" Kate yelled as Yun dragged away her rifle and Actaea nipped at her hands, tore away the knife clipped to her belt. "Not even gonna to show yourselves?"

"Oh my god," the guy in Ford Explorer said, because he'd gotten out of his car instead of driving away for some reason Derek wasn't remotely interested in trying to fathom. He was pointing a gun at Lindsay, but she didn't look too concerned about it. 

"If this is about the motherfucking yogurt," Lindsay said, holding the 1911 steady, "I am going to _extra_ kill your ass, Eric."

"Yogurt?" the guy who'd gotten hit in the calf whimpered.

"Did you seriously think that collaborating with hunters was going to work out for you?" Lindsay continued. "Suddenly your 'always the wolfsman, never the wolfsgroom' schtick is making a lot more sense to me."

"You don't even care about the business!" her cousin—Derek recognized him now—yelled, the muzzle of his gun wavering. "You're not even an alpha! All you and Aunt Florence care about is _pack relations_ , and if YiYo doesn't keep growing, it's going to die, this is Marketing 101 and _I am the one getting an MBA here_."

Lindsay sighed. "That is truly the saddest thing I have ever heard," she said, and shot him in the kneecap.

—

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Stiles said, white-knuckled fingers pressing the makeshift bandage to his arm while Lark whined and huddled close. "Clean shot, I can wiggle my fingers and toeses—"

"—toeses?" Derek said, kneeling down next to Stiles on the other side. After a moment of hesitation, he put his hand on Stiles's uninjured shoulder. Stiles had been with him the time Derek got shot, shutting down a meth lab twenty minutes from home, kept Derek safe until an ambulance got there. Derek didn't know how it worked here, if the Yis had an in with the local government, if a SWAT team was going to descend on them, what. They should have brought the first aid kit with them from the car, they should have—

"Toeses." Stiles closed his eyes and leaned into Derek's touch. "Called Lindsay's mom. Everything's going to be okay."

"Stop telling me that," Derek said.

Stiles's lips quirked up. "Still true." He lifted his free hand to brush it against Derek's where it rested on Stiles's shoulder. "You think we can get away with not telling my dad?"

 _ **No,**_ Lark said.

"Crap," Stiles said.

"Derek, need you for a sec," Lindsay called out to them.

When he came out from behind the boulder, he saw Lindsey leaning against the one she'd taken shelter behind, Yun at her side, Kate's rifle in her hand. "So," she said, looking ahead of her. "I've got a question. What do you want to do about her?"

Derek followed his eyes and found—Kate, with Actaea still at her throat. _Tell me what to do,_ Actaea said. She didn't sound happy about it, though.

"Derek, baby." Kate was barely loud enough for him to hear her. "Didn't expect to see you here. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," he managed. Thirteen years; it was nothing. She was just the same, gorgeous, blonde, deadly. She'd been his substitute teacher, offered to help him with his math, maybe a little more than that, and when she'd shown up at his home on the first night of Lupercalia ( _hey, sugar, I hear this is the night when your family goes wild_ ), he'd let her in. Of course he had.

 _What do you want?_ Actaea said.

Derek wanted to—not be here. He wanted to watch Actaea tear Kate's throat out, the way Thea had torn out Gerard's. He wanted Kate to never have existed, for the fire never to have happened, for him to never have let her into his pack's den. None of those were really options, though: he wasn't Nan and Actaea wasn't Thea, and he couldn't turn back time, either.

"Well, I know what _I_ want," Lindsay said, holding out her hand. "Phone?"

—

Stiles went right to the hospital, but Derek and Lindsay got stuck at the local precinct until nearly sunrise the next day. The Los Gatos police were friendly with the Yi pack, so no one tried to separate wolfpairs, but Derek and Actaea spent long hours waiting around and reiterating the same facts over and over in the interrogation room.

 _You didn't want to kill her,_ Actaea said, settling over his feet, three hours in.

 _You didn't, either,_ Derek said.

Actaea's ears twitched. _No._ She was quiet for a moment. _That's revenge, that's not justice. We're not killers. There are better options._

_Yeah._

_I **did** want to get my teeth in her,_ , Actaea added. _Of course._

Derek reached down, buried his fingers in the soft fur behind her ears, soaking up her warmth and wordless reassurance.

—

Stiles was waiting for him in the lobby when Derek gets the okay to go him, arm bandaged, face pale. "Come on," he said, letting Derek help him up. "Let's go back to Lindsay's. I want to take a nap." 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek woke up in the dark, disoriented, blinking into nothingness.

The mattress under him was firm, the bedding worn cotton. When he reached out beside him, there was a drop to the right, but a warm shape on the left that resolved into Stiles when Derek inhaled, took in his familiar, Stiles-y scent underneath something sharp and antiseptic. His arm. Right.

"'s okay," Stiles slurred into the pillow next to him. "Safe. Sleep now."

"Okay," Derek said, turning toward Stiles, closing his eyes.

The second time Derek woke up, he was more alert. He checked the phone in his pocket, shielding the screen with his hand so he didn't wake Stiles with the light; it was eleven, he had a few texts from Laura, predictable. Florence Yi had picked them up from the police station, bought them breakfast, and interrogated them until it was nearly noon and Stiles was visibly starting to nod off between direct questions. Then they'd crashed in the guest bedroom at the Yi den, a sprawling ranch house on the southwest edge of Cupertino. 

_Door's ten paces to your right,_ Actaea said, sounding sleepy. She'd had a long day, too. _If you want—_

 _Thanks,_ Derek said.

Derek found the guest bathroom easily enough, set off down the hallway toward the bright light he thought might be the kitchen. Lindsay was sitting at the table with a light-haired woman he didn't recognize, poking at a steamed bun, Yun resting at their feet. "Hey," she said, tilting her head back to see him. "You're up. Rachel, Derek; Derek, Rachel. Want some bao?"

"I'm good," he said. "Water—"

"I'll get it for you," Rachel said, getting to her feet. "Sit down. You're our guest."

Lindsay yawned. "That's right. You're not even a guestage anymore, our moms have conferenced and Stiles's friend Boyd drove your Volvo up, took back his Camry."

Derek sat down across from her, accepted the glass of water Rachel held out to him. "That's—that was nice of him."

"Nice of you two to come down and help me out, too," Lindsay said. She'd changed into pajamas since he last saw her, pants printed with ducks and matching t-shirt stretched over her round belly. "I feel all full of maternal pride, you don't even know. Last time I saw Stilinski, he was drunk and crying into my arms about how Java is Satan, blah blah blah, but he's good out in the field. You were both great."

Rachel dropped back down in the chair next to Lindsay. "She means 'thank you.'"

"Don't put words in my mouth," Lindsay said, smiling at her wife.

—

Stiles was awake when Derek came back into their room, still lying on his back, holding his phone up with his good arm. Lark was at the foot of the bed, her head resting on his ankles. "Hey," Stiles said, glancing over at Derek.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to drop that on your face?" Derek said, closing the door behind him. In the dark, the backlight on the phone was just strong enough to turn Stiles's face into a washed-out, blue-tinted beacon, guiding Derek toward him, pulling Derek in.

"Already did. Twice."

Derek climbed up on the bed and prised Stiles's phone from his fingers. "Stop hurting yourself."

"I want to go home," Stiles said. He sighed, shifted against the mattress. "Can we go home now? I know it's—our days and nights are all confused, I just—"

"Yeah," Derek said. "We can go."

—

The trip back to Beacon Hills was easier in the dead of night, the temperature dropped and the breeze cool. Stiles reclined his chair as far as it could go so he could rest the whole way, Lark at his head. Derek even dug out his dad's worn cassette of _Close to the Edge_ as a concession. He kind of liked the title track, even if Actaea didn't.

 _This is boring,_ she said, resigned, thirty seconds in.

 _This is still birdsong,_ Derek pointed out.

_**Like I said.** _

They were making good time, but Stiles's face was tight with discomfort by the time they hit Fremont. "Already taken the good drugs," Stiles said when Derek asked. "Can't have any more."

 _They need us_ , Actaea said.

Derek took a moment, thought about it. _Okay._

When Actaea climbed up on the backseat and rested her head on Lark, it all washed over Derek: Stiles's pain and Lark's exhaustion at trying to take on some of it, the way both eased at Actaea's touch. Lark whimpered softly in relief. That erotic charge was still there, but dormant, letting Derek give comfort and Stiles receive it. "You—you're okay with this?" Stiles said.

"Go to sleep," Derek said, swapping Yes for Sarah McLachlan.

The rest of the way was easy. In the passenger seat, Stiles dozed; in the back, Actaea and Lark stayed curled together, wrapped up in each other. Derek could feel something bright and new twining in his chest as he drove, north and northwest, slowly but surely toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [if you got a straight line, this would be a good time [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152800) by [Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurrochard/pseuds/Fleur%20Rochard)




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